


The Call To Adventure(r)

by BurnerAccount



Series: Naga Adventures [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Fantasy, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurnerAccount/pseuds/BurnerAccount
Summary: Isabella is the most powerful Sorceress on the continent. The best born in the lastcentury.Consummate in her power, incredible in her knowledge -And thisidiotdoesn't seem to notice.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Naga Adventures [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/818964
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	The Call To Adventure(r)

Isabella’s hands are tight on the arms of her throne as she hisses. “Activate _everything_.”

“Dark mistress.” The orc next to her clears his throat. “We’ve already tried. And he’s past the outer defenses.”

The shrieks of pain are loud, and growing louder. The sounds of a fight.

Or rather, a lot of very _brief_ fights.

Isabella sits up straight, and seizes her servant by the collar, pulling him close. “I want this intruder _extinguished_ within the next _minute_.” She stands up, watching her servant squirm, eyes narrowed. “Or there _will_ be consequences.”

The orc cringes back. “Mistress, _please_. We’re trying-” He chokes as she sends lightning crackling over her hand, lacing over his neck. He shivers in his human-hide boots. As he _should_.

“If you can’t command my forces appropriately-” Isabella drops him, settling back on her throne. “Then fight him _yourself_.”

The orc takes the hint. He nods, sparing a second to growl at a goblin, and steal his sword, as well as drawing the axe strapped to his back. He rolls the weapons around, grunting, pumping his arms - and charges forward.

The _rest_ of minions in the throne room are all huddling together, completely useless.

“What are you all _doing_?” Isabella shouts, standing up and sending them scattering with a wave. “Go do... _something_!”

She taps a finger on the arm of her throne. Tense, and waiting.

Isabella Rhian is the most powerful sorceress that this entire _continent_ has _ever_ seen, and this one _man_ can’t destroy her. Many have tried, and this one will fail, just like every. Single. Other.

Even if he does claims to be an ‘adventurer’.

There’s no way he’s a _real_ one.

Isabella is consummately powerful, almost magically invulnerable. She straightens out her dress, settling into her seat. What is a sword, anyway? A stupid piece of metal, wielded only by stupider brutes. She sits up properly as she hears her bodyguard yell, charging forward -

Then silence. An awkward, gasping silence.

A moment later, the door to her throne room rattles. Then _thuds_ , as a strong shoulder slams against it, making the double doors shake with the force.

Isabella keeps her face a perfect, neutral mask. She smooths out her dress again, calmly, and slowly.

So. What will it be this time?

She picks her pose carefully, frowning.

Accusations of murder - not uncalled for, but usually exaggerated. The consorting with demons - she knows far better than to get into warlock territory. Or perhaps it’s the bespelling of her people. Not unwarranted -

But clearly another man who hadn’t done his research.

Isabella has _studied_ her predecessors, and through her study - she has learned. She might have power, power that no other human could comprehend -

But Power isn’t enough. Not all by itself.

The secret. The truly hidden, darkest secret, is that to _truly_ rule takes _more_ than than an individual power.

It’s a whole new innovation in sorceressing, and so far the experiment is working _fantastically_.

When the laws are a little more lax. If you give the peasants free reign. If you don’t resurrect their dead as minions, and only claim minor tribute - they’re surprisingly placid. And when the populace is _happy_ , it turns out they tend to _defend_ their ruler, instead of waiting for someone to behead her.

It’s fended off a dozen other ‘liberators,’ and her rule has remained solid as a stone. Why it didn’t work _this_ time is strange, but-

The doors to her sanctum slam open with a bang. One of them even dangles slightly off its hinges, from that final blow. Now the light from the entryway floods into the room.

Ah. Already? How quick.

The ‘adventurer’ stands in the open doorway. A man, of course. A _large_ man, by his silhouette. Hands on his hips, standing proud.

That won’t last.

Isabella raises a slow, languid hand, tilting her head to the side. “Welcome to-”

“My lady!” The large man rushes into the hall, and towards the throne. Not even bothering to notice her pose.

Isabella raises an eyebrow. Well. At least this reckless idiocy will solve things momentarily.

Except he dodges the spike pit.

And leaps over the acid pit.

And he’s fast enough to miss the dart trap, his momentum carries him over the second spike pit, then he rolls past the swinging blades-

Isabella’s eyes widen as the man’s rather large bulk surges towards her. Faster than it would suggest, faster than it _should_ be, and she doesn’t have a spell prepared-

Her hand is seized in between two large, warm, callused ones, much larger than her own. The man is very, very tall, and broad about the shoulders. He’s…

Smiling?

Isabella’s hand twitches in his grip. Then glares, as this _insolent_ man pulls her up from her throne.

This simple, idiot, human beams at her, through his absolutely ridiculous beard. He’s far taller than her, his gleaming armor splattered with blood clearly not his own, his sword sheathed at his side.And...

Not doing anything more or less than holding her hand.

“My lady,” The man says, again. He bows, and kisses his thumb where it presses against the back of her hand.

Isabella tries to jerk her hand away, and fails. “What.” She asks, flat, teeth clenched. “Are you. Doing.”

The man’s ridiculously broad chest puffs up with pride. “Fair Lady! **_I_** Am Roderick Richards,” He smacks a fist against his armor. “Professional Hero. Here to Rescue The Beautiful Lady From The Monstrous Castle!”

Isabella blinks. Capital letters shouldn’t be able to be pronounced, and yet-

She’s swooped up into strong arms, feet well off the ground. She slaps her hand against a broad chest, and swears. She can't believe she has to repeat this. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“Rescuing!” Richards says, voice booming with pride. He strides forward, balancing Isabella in his arms, ignoring the way she pushes at him. “Rest assured, Most Beautiful Lady, that I, Roderick Richards, will-”

Isabella hits him, but it bounces off that armor. She shakes her hand, wincing. “I do _not_ need any rescue!” She kicks her legs, but he’s awfully strong. “Let _go_ of me, you…. “ She pushes hard against his armored chest. “Peasant!”

Richards makes a soft, upset sound. Still carrying her forward, all while he’s holding like she’s some sort of, of, _damsel_ \- “My lady, we’re in a den of monsters!” He raises his chin proudly. “I, Roderick Richards, will Save You!”

Of course it’s a den of monsters, this is _her_ den of- Isabella rubs at her eyes. This can’t possibly be happening.

Except the door to her throne room is rapidly approaching, and she can already see some of her surviving minions peeking in, seeing… all of _this_. Heat rises into her face.

“Put. Me.” Lightning crackles over Isabella’s fingers again, as she seethes. She slaps the metal surrounding this fool’s chest. “ _Down_.”

The shock quite literally loosens his arms, they jerk in place.

And Isabella is released. With a thud.

She gets to her feet quickly, with as much grace as she can manage, smoothing out her dress again.

The _fool_ still kneels, shaking with the literal aftershock.

“Ahem,” She clears her throat, breathing in and regaining her poise. She smirks. “Mr. Richards… don’t you know who you’re dealing with?” She examines her nails, just for the effect. They’re perfect, of course. “ _I_ am-”

“HA!” Richards starts laughing. He gets up surprisingly fast, slapping a hand against a knee. “Shockingly beautiful, of course!”

Isabella stops. Her face is a little warm. She had a _line_ prepared, that would have - And how dare he imply that kind of thing. They’re _enemies_. Though he doesn't seem to realize -

“What?” She asks.

“Oh! It’s a joke, you see? Because of the-” Richards taps his chest, and laughs. He throws a heavy arm around Isabella’s shoulders. “You get it!”

Isabella feels the heavy weight of the firm, muscled arm, and struggles to keep standing. Magically, she can do anything - But she’s slight of frame, and this _idiot_ acts like a dog that never figured out it’s too big to sit in someone's lap.

After a moment, Richards frowns. “Miss, if you were this powerful…” He leans in, voice lowering from a volume of ‘booming’ into a mockery of a whisper. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

Of course, it couldn’t be simple. _He’s_ too simple.

All the minions who could be here are here, peeking through every crevice.

Isabella sighs.

Posturing is clearly useless. As is subtlety. It’d be like trying to coerce a brick wall. If he’s come this far, and done this much, and _still_ doesn’t know - then even implying is simply hopeless.

Straightforward, then.

“I _live_ here.” Isabella states. She shrugs the weight of that ripplingly muscled arm off her shoulders.

“What,” Richards straightens up, looking around. It’s like he’s only just noticed her minions again, and he puffs up like a peacock. “With _monsters_?”

“I am the _ruler_ of this state,” Isabella states, delicately not mentioning her own, personal state vis-a-vis 'monster'. She takes one of his large hands in both of hers, raising an eyebrow. “What does it matter who I employ?”

“Huh,” Richards says. He frowns in thought. He clicks his tongue, and runs his fingers through his beard. “Hmmm.”

Good. While he’s distracted, using what few minimal braincells he has... Isabella can take care of this, easily.

Already she’s built up a fire around them, licking around their shins, surrounding this fool. In but a moment, the flames will _consume_ him, even as they never touch her.

It’s interesting, watching Richards’ eyes dart around, confused, as his idiot brain tries to process. He squints down at the fire.

“Oh!” Richards says, after a moment. His eyes light up, he snaps his fingers.

Ah, realization. Apparently he _is_ capable of it.

“Ah, well. Good thing you’re not an _evil_ ruler,” Richards says, clapping her on the back fondly. He still doesn’t know his own strength, it makes her stumble.

Isabella draws herself up, hand pressed against her chest, feeling- Not exactly offended, but at least indignant. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Richards has also apparently deemed this conversation over, because he hums a tune to himself, and strides through the fire surrounding him without a care.

He turns around as he reaches the doors of the throne room, beams, and waves. “You’re quite lovely, miss! I hope we meet again!”

And he leaves.

Isabella stares.

Her minions part in front of Richards like water in front of a ship, without him ever drawing his sword. He pushes past them without any resistance. Come to think of it - 

The most powerful sorceress in several centuries. The absolute ruler of this city-state, the consummate example of this type of monster, forever, for _always_ , because Isabella is going to be the _best_ sorceress there has _ever been_ -

In front of _her_. He never drew his _sword._

This idiot just…

Does whatever comes to his mind, apparently.

But it really - It can’t be _that_ simple. 

“ _Richards_!” Isabella charges forward, shouting, storming into the doorway. “Get back here and _explain yourself_!” The hallways echo. She stomps her foot, sending her castle walls shuddering. “I did _not_ give you _permission to leave_!”

But he’s gone.

No sense of him, in her entire palace.

Isabella swears. She glances around - so many eyes - and glares at the creeping gaze of her servants. “What are you all looking at?”

All the minions retreat, except for a groan near her feet. A semi-dismembered minion from earlier. She rolls her eyes. “And who hasn’t summoned the healers already?” She gestures over her idiots, frustrated. “Are you _all_ incompetent?”

Everyone starts moving along, frantic. Gathering the wounded, sweeping at the blood on the floor, polishing the windows - anything to look busy.

Isabella leans against the doorframe, arms folding.

What an awful, huge, stupid hairy beast of a man. Totally blind, absolutely idiotic. Admittedly somewhat respectful. But getting past the traps. Her minions. Ignoring very real dangers, killing anything and everything that _seemed_ dangerous.

Doing the impossible. Because he didn’t know it _was_ impossible.

Surviving what _shouldn’t_ have been possible, through a combination of a pure talent for violence, and sheer, reckless _luck._

Isabella shudders, wrapping her arms around herself.

That...

Was a _real_ Adventurer.

Capital letter included.

And with any luck, she’ll never see him again.

**Author's Note:**

> There's like. Two more chapters to this, theoretically. One involving how they hook up, and another involving how they get married. One day, I may even get around to writing them, but overall this is basically backstory for the other fics in this series. 
> 
> (If for some reason you're reading this plain, Isabella is Max's Mom)


End file.
